Red Alert Chronicles: Flak Trooper
by Michael O'Hare
Summary: Already in a bad mood, a foul-tempered flak trooper is about to experience the worst day of their military career. Rated R for language.


RED ALERT CHRONICLES  
FLAK TROOPER  
  
By Michael O'Hare  
  
  
He really did not enjoy his job. Sure, there were some aspects of this job he loved, but, for the most part, he did not enjoy his job. He had to lug around a heavy gun, fire the thing off right next to his ear, and he was often the target of airborne enemies more often than their obvious targets.  
  
But, at least he had a job. Regardless, employment was no excuse to refrain from complaining.  
  
At the moment, fortunately, there was not much going on. He paced around his position, near the nuclear silo's only flak cannon, trying his best to overcome his foul mood, and having no success whatsoever. He grew up in Moscow, and was not used to the ungodly heat of the Pacific at all. Furthermore, the salty air served only to irritate him more so. They had only set up base on this small island less than two hours ago, but it felt like he had been standing in the blazing sun for days.  
  
The task at hand was a simple one: The Allied forces had built a device that controlled the weather. Their mission was to find it location, and annihilate the device, before it could be put to use against the Soviet Empire. They had been sent out to find its location, and assure its destruction with a nuclear missile.  
The general attitude amongst the soldiers was one of enthusiasm. The commander leading them had been responsible for several decisive victories in the past, and everyone was excited over being under the leadership of such a distinguished person.  
He couldn't care less, personally. Whoever this brilliant commander was, they clearly did not have enough common sense to fight wars in cooler climates.  
  
He swore at his misfortune, and hastily unscrewed the top to his flask, greedily swallowing the rapidly warming water inside. Even in its tepid state, it was refreshing. He savored each gulp of water, even as he let his foul mood fester and grow.  
  
"Damn it all!" he suddenly said after swallowing the last of the water. "I didn't join the army to stew in my own sweat! Why haven't they found that damned thing, yet??"  
  
As he continued muttering to himself, the radio on his belt clicked to life.  
"FT Unit 023, come in. FT Unit 02-"  
He quickly grabbed the radio from his belt, and barked into it.  
"What??"  
"There are a group of Allied rocketeers heading in your direction. We presume their target is the nuclear silo. You know what to do."  
"Understood," he replied plaintively. "By the way, when am I going to get some damned reinforcements?"  
"Your orders are given," came the reply, before the radio clicked off.  
"Psh! Stupid jerk!" He quickly placed the radio back on his belt, and aimed if flak launcher up, waiting for anything to come into view.  
  
After a few moments of waiting, a group of rocketeers came sailing through the air towards him. He smiled arrogantly and cruelly. He always thought rocketeers were incredibly ridiculous looking, with their legs dangling gracelessly in the air, and such a gaudy piece of machinery strapped to their backs. The fact that they clearly did not know he was there only added to his evil mirth, as he pulled the trigger, firing in synchronization with the flak cannon behind him.  
  
As he had been expecting, they were caught completely off guard. As soon as the unfortunate rocketeers entered the cloud of flak, their jets, and their flesh, were mercilessly shredded by thousands of tiny, razor - sharp pieces of metal. As far up as they were, he could still hear their screams of pain, as they lost control of their jetpacks, and fluttered through the clouds of flak like mad hummingbirds, their agonized screams echoing throughout the sky. He did not stop firing, even as he witnessed the disturbing scene above him. He pulled the trigger on the launcher over and over again, channeling his frustrated mood into each shot, making the unfortunate Allied soldiers the scapegoats onto which he was unloading all of his grievances.  
  
He was at the peak of unloading his frustrations alongside his ammunition, when he felt something splash against his cheek. He stopped firing for a second, rather confused and surprised. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, it could not possibly be raining. He wiped the substance from his cheek, and stared at it. It wasn't rain.  
  
It was blood. It was raining blood.  
  
He looked up at the rocketeers, smirking in astonishment. They were raining blood. Most people might find this disturbing, even terrifying. He, however, found it funny, in a macabre way. His smile, however, quickly disappeared when the rocketeers began spiraling out of control towards the ground.  
  
"Aaaw, crap!"  
  
Keeping his eyes glued to the spiraling corpses above him, he quickly moved himself away from where he thought they would land. Fortunately for him, they were not heading towards his general position. He watched as the bodies cut through the air and plowed into the ground with a loud, chilling crack, wincing at the sound of their bones snapping as they collided with the ground, what little propulsion their rockets were giving out only adding momentum to their impact.  
  
He stared at the collection of broken bodies scattered across the field, smirking slightly. He had just started to relax again, when the unmistakable sound of jet engines reached him. He quickly scanned the cloudless skies, searching for the source of the noise, when a pack of Allied aircraft soared over the cluster of palm trees towards his position. Caught completely off guard, he was only able to lift his flak cannon halfway before they launched their missiles. The area was immediately bathed in explosions. Quickly assessing the situation, he quickly decided it would be wiser do duck and cover. Shutting his eyes tight to keep any debris out, and swearing a storm of obscenities in his mind, he leapt to the ground, held his arms over his head, pressing his helmet down tight, until the storm of weaponry subsided.  
  
Fortunately, the flak cannon hadn't been caught off guard, and was able to down a couple of the planes as they retreated.  
  
He lowered his flak launcher, his body tensed severely, breathing heavily, as he watched the few remaining aircraft soar away. Slowly, as his anger increased even more, his breathing became heavier. He knew they were coming back, but he was too angry to feel any fear. He lifted his flak launcher, his arms trembling from anger, hoping they would return.  
  
As he suspected, they returned. But, what he had not expected was how many of them there would be. There were twice as many as the previous attempt. Apparently, they were losing patience.  
  
Regardless, he and the flak cannon fired relentlessly into the flock of jets, creating a large, thick cloud of flak in their path. Several of the flames erupted into flames and spiraled to the ground, but several more made it through, and showered the ground with missiles. As the ground around him once again erupted with several violent explosions and geysers of dirt and flame, he yanked the radio from his belt, and held up.  
  
"Control!" he screamed into his radio, "Control! Come in, damnit! Where are all these things coming from??"  
"A pair of Allied aircraft carriers have positioned themselves offshore near your position!"  
  
As if on cue, the next barrage of missiles struck the patch of palm trees blocking his view of the ocean, revealing the pair of aircraft carriers, each one spewing out a seemingly endless supply of jets.  
  
"Reinforcements!" he screamed into his radio. "I need reinforcements!"  
"Negative!" The reply was frantic. "Naval base is under attack! All available reinforcements being sent to south of base! Hold off attackers until - "  
  
He hurled the radio down and stomped on it, lifting his flak launcher up into the air.  
  
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME???" he yelled at the top of his lungs, "I AM JUST ONE MAN!!!"  
  
Fueled more by anger than by fear, he fired indiscriminately into the air, not bothering to aim. He shut his eyes to prevent the dirt being kicked up from the explosions from entering his eyes, as his ears were filled with the deafening cacophony of explosions and weaponry firing. Behind him, the similarly overworked flak cannon swerved and fired desperately at everything in the air. All around him, the jets that had taken their limit in damage hit the ground, most exploding violently as they did. None of this got to him him, however. He felt no fear, no panic, just pure, seething anger, as his trigger finger began to throb with pain. Even as one wave of attacking planes fell back or plummeted to the ground, another group was swooping in, intent on destroying everything and everyone.  
  
There was no way he could possibly handle this. If he stayed, he would die. If he tried retreating, he would die. Just then, for the first time in his career in the military, he was actually afraid.  
  
Fortunately, for him, that fear would not last much longer.  
  
Even over the deafening explosions around him the giant squids' chilling roars were more than audible. It was enough to break him from his overwhelming rage, as he turned his gaze offshore, at the aircraft carriers, which were both now in the crushing grip of the beasts. The gargantuan beasts rocked the massive ships about like they were toys, spraying seawater into the air, and tossing many the ships' unfortunate crew into the water. Metal cracked and buckled under the squids' muscular tentacles, as, one after the other, the aircraft onboard the doomed ships rolled off into the sea.  
  
This nightmarish, yet wondrous site before him transfixed his eyes. This spectacle was enough to amaze even him. Already, the majority of one of the aircraft carriers was submerged, and the other was beginning to join it. The squid who had been attacking the first aircraft carrier quickly let go of the rapidly sinking craft, and turned its attention towards the delicious looking sailors swimming frantically towards the shore. One by one, they were dragged under by the pair of hungry beasts, the other squid having pulled down the other carrier, and more than happy to join in on the feast.  
As the shrieks of horror filled the beachside air, a pack of attack dogs dashed onto the beach, and began pacing at the water's edge, hungrily waiting, or hoping, for any survivors to crawl ashore.  
  
Having grown bored with the macabre scene playing before him, he turned around, and surveyed the area around him. The ground was littered with bloody bodies and smoking aircraft wreckage.  
  
After several seconds of staring at his surroundings, he finally let go of the mountains of tension within him, and fell into a seated position on the ground, allowing his breath to catch up with him.  
"About damned time!" he yelled, brushing the dust off of himself. The air around him was thick with smoke, and the smell of burning metal and flesh was inescapable. The horrors of the battlefield were more than most people could have stood, but not him. It did not affect him in the least. He was too grouchy a person to think about such things.  
  
As he shook his hand, trying his best to chase away the pain, the unmistakable alarm sounded from behind him. He turned around, just in time to see the silo's doors opening, and the missile rising gracefully into place, as the base's loudspeakers clicked to life.  
  
"WARNING!" the voice yelled from the loudspeakers, "nuclear missile prepared for launch. All personnel move away from the silo, immediately!"  
  
He seemed to be far enough, but, just for safety's sake, he began scooting himself away further from the silo. It was at this point that he finally noticed the unnatural look of the sky. Storm clouds seemed to have formed overhead within seconds. The lightning flashing within the boiling clouds was like nothing he had ever seen before, and it made him uneasy to no end.  
  
Regardless, the sirens were much louder than the thunder. He turned his attention once again towards the missile, and waited for the countdown to end.  
  
"5... 4... 3... 2... 1..."  
  
The bottom of the missile exploded in a blossom of flame and smoke, as the awesome weapon rose gracefully into the air, the hammer and sickle proudly emblazoned on its sides. The cheers and shouts of the soldiers were just barely audible over the roar of its rockets, as it broke through the clouds and out of sight. Even he was overwhelmed by the site, and managed to cheer.  
  
"Victory to the Union!" he yelled. "That damned Allied weather control device is as good as..."  
It was then that it dawned on him, as he stared up at the boiling, tumultuous clouds overhead.  
  
"... Oh, shit!"  
  
He only had time to swear once before a terrifyingly large bolt of lightning streaked from the heavens and collided with a nearby tesla reactor, the resulting explosion shattering the structure into a million pieces.  
  
Upon seeing this, he immediately and blindly dashed for cover, instinctually picking up his flak launcher as he dashed away. All around him, impossibly large bolts of lightning struck the area, one deafening clap of thunder followed by another. All through the base, infantry and vehicles raced aimlessly, their panic having nullified whatever judgment could have helped them, if any. More often than not, they fell victim to a bolt of lightning, which slammed into them like some giant, divine hammer of death.  
  
As he searched for a suitable hiding place, something dawned on him, and, as a look of absolute horror crossed his face, he turned to look at his flak launcher. The moment only lasted a second, and it was really all he could afford. Without thinking, without even bothering to register either action in his head, he hurled the weapon down, and raced away from it as fast as he could.   
  
He had hardly taken ten lunging strides away from the weapon before his world was filled with a blinding white light and a deafening crash.  
  
He leapt to the ground, more to confirm that he was still alive than for cover, and hoped that, whatever the lightning had hit, the shrapnel wouldn't land on him. After a few seconds of cowering on the ground, he quickly got up to see what had been struck, hoping, in the back of his mind, that it wasn't what he feared it was.  
  
Whatever trace of fear or panic in him was immediately replaced with a caustic, seething anger as his eyes fell upon the charred, burnt mark on the ground where his flak trooper had once been laying. Many of his comrades stopped running long enough to ponder the sight of one of their own raising their fists to the sky and screaming vulgarities at the Allied army.  
  
Fortunately, that bolt seemed to be the last one. As stared upwards and continued to curse, he could see the clouds dissipating, beams of sunlight eventually joining together to illuminate the base, allowing one to see the smoking wreckage that several buildings and vehicles had been reduced to.  
  
"Goddamn stupid Allied asses!" he screamed, waving his fist at nobody in particular. "Stupid - ass Capitalist bitches! Stinking bastards! I - "  
  
He caught something out of the corner of his eye, and stopped screaming. On the horizon, the large, glowing mushroom cloud rose into the air, its malevolent beauty striking everyone who saw it. At that moment, his anger seeped away from him, leaving him with an overwhelming sense of ambiguity.  
  
As he stared at the cloud, the base's loudspeakers clicked to life.  
  
"Brave soldiers of the Soviet Empire," the voice boomed throughout the entire base, "the Allied weather control device has been utterly destroyed! Another victory has been achieved for the glory of the Soviet Empire!"  
  
The entire base broke out in cheers at hearing this, the horror of the lightning storm seemingly forgotten. He did not cheer, however. He was far too tired to do anything like that.  
He sighed, and stared once again at the mushroom cloud in the distance. He let out a tired groan, and strolled towards the barracks, hoping to attain another flak launcher without any fuss.  
  
"At least I have job."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
DISCLAMER (S)  
Command & Conquer: Red Alert 2, and all related characters and concepts are owned by Westwood Studios. This fanfic is owned by the author, which is me. Nobody owns the air... yet. But, just you wait, you fools! You'll see... You'll ALL see!!  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES  
Damn, this took me longer than I thought it would. See, this is what happens when you have no REAL incentive to get up in the mornings.  
I just finished a little skirmish in Anytown, Amerika, and, after the flak troopers' performances, I decided I ought to write a story about these grumpy bastards. I was somewhat reluctant to incorporate the flak trooper's actual quotes into this story, as I thought it would come out sounding rather cheap. I think it worked okay, though.   
  
Okay, next, the Tesla Trooper. And I'm actually going to try to get it out sooner than, what was this, a DECADE?  
  
You know, I'd like to write a Terror Drone story, but every time I try to think of one, all that I get is "Zip, crank, skitter, SKREETCH!!!"  
...Ten pages of that. Who wants to read that? I sure as Hell don't, and I'd have to write it!  
  
On a completely unrelated note, I am far too amused by my own spelling mistakes. Hahahaha... Plam trees... Hahahaha...  



End file.
